True story. This just happened. Me: Hi Dad, the doctors say I have less than a year to live. Dad: I don’t know what to say so I’m sending you a card that says it. It isn’t very downstream of me to dwell on this stuff, but really? A fucking CARD? Way to phone it in. Hi, I’m Talyaa and I have Stage 4 cancer that’s not treatable by western medicine. Yay. Yes, this will change my life (ba dum BUM). I am writing about it here. And my beloved soulmate is writing about it here. Follow me. Write to me. Hire me. This is your story too. It’s about loving…

Dear Universe, Let me start right off by fully owning that what I am about to write is not fair. I know this. In fact, let me just step into my Petulant Whiny Little Girl persona, okay? Because that is where I am right now. I hate you. I am angry at you. I wish I was never born, never had to go through all the shit that my life has been about. But you know what I am most angry at? That I can’t seem to step through the fog in front of my face in order to get to where the good stuff is. Because I believe…

One of my biggest fears is that the world in my head will become too distanced from reality. That it’s a trick somehow. That I am making everything up, creating glittering but empty circus worlds from my copious imagination. That one day those worlds will implode, come crashing down on me, and that I’ll be left with nothing but the wide space inside my thoughts, a vast empty plain where the lonely wind blows night and day. Whoosh. In these times I look for someone to blame for the feeling of dread that comes from touching into the dead emptiness of my fear, but I know deep inside that I…

I’ve been sick as a horse. Wait, do horses get sick? And how would you know? Whenever you ask them questions, they just say “neigh.” Ba dum bum. You can tell I am feeling better, because my really bad jokes only emerge when I’m feeling pretty good. So I went down to Portland a couple of weeks ago, the place that was built atop an ancient unicorn burial ground (I did not make this up — it’s on Facebook so it must be true — but they only bury the really really ancient ones so they leave the perky young ones to prance around and make rainbows)(unicorn euthanasia)(don’t you love…

I’ve often wondered why human head size isn’t more standardized. After all, we can be pretty sure that head size isn’t related to brain power, so what other reason would there be not to base natural selection on head size? Getting your head stuck in the neck of your sweater is a serious and life-threatening condition. Smaller heads use fewer resources and are more environmentally sustainable. Big heads need big hats. How many sheep does it take to make the wool in just one big-headed hat? I can imagine that three or four sheep devote themselves full-time to the making of just one hat. This is tricky because sheep are…

I fell the other night. Out of bed, apparently. I remember yelling — screaming maybe — something profound like, “Ow!” And feeling like my body had been glued to the floor. And now, practically every movement I make with my ass (these are surprisingly numerous) hurts. I can’t help but think that it’s part of the Universe’s plan for me. Tilting on its axis suddenly and causing me to fall out of bed and break my ass. That’s it, isn’t it? I could also blame alcohol. Why not? My ass hurts when I breathe and I have to point the finger at somebody. And after all, coming home at night…